Chapter Text
Tianlang-jun, unfortunately, was a fast learner.
The next morning, Shen Qingqiu awoke to the soft sound of footsteps and the even softer sound of a thump.
A stack of books landed beside him.
Pink covers. Purple fonts. A few with glitter that definitely wasn’t environmentally friendly — no doubt also a result of Airplane’s complete disregard of historical accuracy for the time period.
Shen Qingqiu went cold.
“What,” he asked carefully, “is this?”
Tianlang-jun stood over him with the smugness of a man who believed he had chosen the perfect courting gift.
“You enjoyed our reading yesterday.”
“I didn’t enjoy it,” Shen Qingqiu said flatly. “I experienced psychological warfare.”
“So,” Tianlang-jun continued, ignoring him entirely, “I selected more.”
Shen Qingqiu stared.
One book had a shirtless demon hero riding a gigantic wolf. Another featured a human cultivator fainting into the arms of a nine-tailed fox.
The third one — oh Heavenly Dao — the third one had a title embossed in swirling gold letters:
“Love Me or Die Trying: A Wife-Snatching Demon Emperor’s Path to True Devotion.”
Shen Qingqiu’s hands twitched.
“Tianlang-jun. I am begging you. As a fellow sentient being. Stop.”
Tianlang-jun looked deeply, sincerely confused.
“You liked the last one.”
“I DIDN’T-!”
“You read half of it aloud.”
“Because you stared at me until I did!”
“You looked... content.”
“I looked resigned to fate!”
Silence.
Shen Qingqiu wanted to throw himself into a ravine.
But the demon king was already kneeling beside him, expression earnest, voice low with expectation that was far too soft for someone supposedly terrifying.
“I found these for you,” Tianlang-jun said. “You should be flattered.”
Shen Qingqiu inhaled slowly.
He exhaled slowly.
He prayed for strength.
“...” “Let’s look at these masterpieces, then.”
He picked up the top one.
Opened to a random page.
And froze.
“Tianlang-jun.”
“Yes?”
“Why is the protagonist’s lover coming back from the dead using the power of ‘Love Resurrection Technique: Level Three’?”
“That is a common trope.”
“It’s necromancy!”
“It’s romantic.”
Shen Qingqiu slapped the book shut.
He opened the second. He read two lines. He shut it.
“Tianlang-jun. In this one, the male lead gets stronger every time his wife cries.”
“Motivational technique.”
“No. That’s supernatural emotional manipulation! That’s- That’s- illegal in twelve realms!”
“I don’t see the problem.”
Shen Qingqiu felt lightheaded.
He tried the third book.
He managed one sentence before his eyes began twitching.
“Tianlang-jun.”
“Mm?”
“This sentence is eighty-seven characters long.”
“Very descriptive.”
“There are four metaphors in it.”
“Poetic.”
“One of them compares his lover to a ‘sobbing moon dumpling.’”
Tianlang-jun nodded. “A classic phrase.”
Shen Qingqiu stared at him with the flat, haunted expression of a man who had witnessed true evil.
Then — slowly, dangerously — his patience snapped.
He stood.
Tianlang-jun straightened, alert.
“Shen Qingqiu?”
Shen Qingqiu inhaled sharply.
He looked the demon king in the eyes.
“Do you actually understand romance,” he demanded, “or have your novels given you a dangerously distorted idea of how humans fall in love?”
Tianlang-jun blinked.
“For romance,” he said calmly, “you take someone, carry them, possibly kidnap them, inhibit their spiritual energy for dramatic tension, perform a dangerous rescue, share a cave, share a bed, and then-”
“STOP. No. That’s not- That is not how romance works!”
“It works in the books.”
“They’re FICTION!”
“Fiction often reveals universal truths.”
“No, fiction reveals what authors write when they’re sleep-deprived and have deadlines.”
Tianlang-jun tilted his head, clearly unconvinced.
Shen Qingqiu rubbed his temples.
He felt it coming — the fatal sentence, the thing he should never, ever say.
But Tianlang-jun looked at him with genuine confusion. Genuine curiosity. Genuine... earnestness.
And Shen Qingqiu, disastrously, decided to be helpful (totally not because he found this sad excuse for a supreme demonic emperor cute or anything).
“Tianlang-jun,” he said, “if you wanted to understand romance...” He swallowed. “Perhaps you need a more... hands-on demonstration.”
Silence.
Absolute, deafening silence.
Like the entire demon realm was holding its breath.
Tianlang-jun stared at him.
Shen Qingqiu realised what he’d said.
He regretted everything.
“Wait- WAIT- Tianlang-jun, that didn’t mean-!”
The demon king leaned forward, eyes glowing like molten gold, voice dropping to a velvet purr.
“A demonstration?”
“No, no, I mean- hypothetically! In an academic sense! As a general- AH- figurative-!”
Tianlang-jun’s hand lifted and very lightly — very gently — touched Shen Qingqiu’s chin, tilting his face up.
“Show me, then,” he murmured. “Teach me.”
Shen Qingqiu made an incoherent spiritual noise.
Tianlang-jun smiled.
“This,” he said softly, “already feels significantly more educational than a book.”
“Tianlang-jun-”
“Yes, Shen Qingqiu?”
“...” “Forget the demonstration.”
“No.”
“Tianlang-jun...”
“I insist.”
Shen Qingqiu covered his face.
And realised, with despair, that he had absolutely no one to blame but himself.